At The Coming Of Autumn
By Kate Camp
I seal up all the windows and doors
plug holes, and smoke out the mice.
I prepare the surfaces of things for coming snow;
the apple I shine to a dangerous gloss
and in my roof arm spiders with tiny forks
that this winter they may eat in a civilised fashion.
To the neighbours I say, silence your machines,
wash your children, kiss goodbye your failings
we enter this death together
without those rusted anchors.